


The Last One

by JeromeSankara



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Death, Doctor/Patient, Euthanasia, Goodbyes, Orphanage, Rickyl Writers' Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: Love takes many forms. Saying goodbye takes just as many. The man who gave Daryl the world now needs him one last time.





	The Last One

Daryl had seen death many times in his life. He'd seen humans fight for their next breath. He'd seen trauma patients rushed to his hand, still begging for life that was slipping through his fingers with their blood. Stood at bedsides and heard their death rattles, their flatlines and final pleas to God. He thought he had seen all of death's many faces.

In all his years, though, he had never seen death this quiet.

Daryl carefully dipped the cloth back into the basin of cool water and wring it out. He folded the cloth slowly, letting his gaze fall to the man tucked beneath the patchwork quilts. Small wires and tubes were slipped beneath the blankets, dangling off to small monitors with the sound turned off, to IV bags almost drained and will no longer be refilled.

Soft blue eyes met his in return, if only barely. They were struggling to stay open, but they were as sharp as ever. They followed Daryl's movements as he returned to his bedside, then closed as he draped the damp cloth across his forehead.

“I've told them,” Daryl said softly, resting the back of his hand to the man's cheek. Warm. Yet he was still shivering. If he was cold, he didn't complain. Daryl wished he would, if just to make him comfortable. “They're coming.”

The man opened his eyes again, this time straying to the bedside table. To the picture that always sat beside him. 

Reaching across the bed, Daryl picked up the framed photo and moved it closer for the man to see. The picture may be old, but the details never faded in Daryl's mind.

The day that changed their lives. The day they had passed through those gates, wide eyed and hopeful, with the wooden sign overhead. Daryl brushed his fingertips against the glass, reading the words.

Greene Pasture Orphanage.

“Daryl?” 

Hershel's rasp brought his attention. Setting the picture down on the bed, Daryl leaned in closer. As he did so, he let his hand run down to Hershel's wrist, taking his pulse. Thready and unstable. Weakening. Swallowing down those pesky emotions, he remained silent.

Hershel took in a long breath, and Daryl could hear it shiver in his lungs. “You were always… so quiet. Didn't hear a peep for a week when you all came.”

A smirk twitched onto Daryl's face, even as his heart sank lower.

“But you were always there.”

“Always gonna be,” Daryl murmured, squeezing his hand. “Couldn't get rid of me. Ain't one of the pups.”

“You wouldn't eat until everyone else did. Until they were all safe.” Hershel's eyes fluttered closed, and he let out a long sigh. “I only wish… I found all of you sooner.”

Daryl shook his head, if only to look away. The day they were found… When they were huddled in that alley, the rain pouring down on them, and only a tarp for their roof. He remembered waking up that day not knowing if they would live to see the next.

Every day had been a struggle to survive, no better than filth. They all were damaged, visible or not. But Hershel still saw past that. 

“You saved us,” Daryl whispered, looking back to the photo. Glenn. Maggie. Rick and Shane. Paul. Carl. All with broken pasts and fading futures. One by one, though, their family found their homes. Found real lives. They grew, found families of their own, and drifted away. They were orphans no longer.

All except Daryl. The unwanted one. The one too quiet, too feral, too unlovable.

Until Hershel handed him those papers, and invited Daryl into his heart.

And now he was the only one left again. The others won't make it in time, Daryl already knew that. But it was better this way.

“Daryl…” Hershel breathed, and Daryl's fingers clenched on the frame. He knew. Hershel always knew. He knew that this diagnosis would be his last, and even when Daryl had begged to get him into treatment, even by his own hand, they both knew it would only prolong the pain.

It was why he stood up from the bed, and turned back to the monitor. His fingers brushed against the dials, and one by one, he turned them off. He pushed down the quilt and took off each patch and reader in turn.

His mind tried to let him go into autopilot, that this was just another patient. But his heart wanted him to stop, to give him more time if just to say goodbye. It was why his fingers still trembled as he removed everything but a single IV.

Hershel caught his hand, and Daryl blinked away the tears that were coming without his consent. Hershel was ready, but even now, why was it so hard? Daryl wasn't ready to let him go.

“You've made me so proud, my boy.”

Daryl couldn't look away, even as he reached for the syringe sitting alone on the table. “M'sorry,” Daryl breathed, squeezing his hand. “I-I just…”

Hershel smiled softly, then laid his head back into the pillow. “I know, it's okay. But don't be afraid.” One small squeeze of his hand, then he let out one long, tired sigh. “Let me go, Daryl.”

They were the words that forced Daryl's hand to move again, picking up the syringe. He let go of Hershel's hand just long enough to hold the IV steady. He took in one breath, then two, then slid the needle inside. Pushing the plunger down took every ounce of his strength, and the only reason he did not stop was for the peace that Hershel deserved.

“Thank you,” were the words that slipped from Hershel's lips, and his eyes closed. Daryl took his hand once more, and listened to his breaths. Daryl squeezed his hand with each breath. Reminding him that he was here. That he will always be here.

“Father…”

The breaths paused, then he gave up his final breath, and all was still.


End file.
